


Unholy Eden

by StrangertoBluewaters



Category: Hell on Wheels (TV)
Genre: F/M, Hell on Wheels AU, Longing, Pining, Porn With Plot, hell on wheels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2020-01-06 22:28:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18397622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrangertoBluewaters/pseuds/StrangertoBluewaters
Summary: Longing is a slow knife to the heart.





	Unholy Eden

**Author's Note:**

> Because reasons.

Unholy Eden

 

AN: because obviously I wasn’t ok with how Ruth Cole ended, so I’m giving it the old AU try because fuck it that’s what they’re there for lol also... am I the only one who ships them? lol

  
  
  


The days were getting longer, the empty promise of more time to be had. Ruth waited and waited for the dark pick up truck to return to the farm once more. The air was warm but the breeze forced a chill upon her. He’d come back. He  _ always _ came back. 

 

But there were the two sides of Ruth Cole: one that yearned for him to come back and the other that castigated herself for such...  _ desires _ . 

 

But he would come back safe, maybe not so sound, however in need of comfort. In need of relief and penance. It was a medicine she was ready to give, to any who required it. Perhaps some more so than others...   
  
Ruth turned her leather bound bible over in her hands, soft and lined with the oils of her skin.    
  
It was as much a part of her as her own heart.    
  
The sun continues its descent into the sky, another chill covers her like a blanket. Another breath, another wonder... he’ll come back. Her mind wanders to the roughened skin of his hands, from toil and labor. Darkened by the earth and by the gun. 

 

Ruth knew it was wrong to want to save such a man. Deep down, in her impure mind, in the dead of night when Ezra was finally fast asleep and Cullen had gone back to his own abode, did she give credence to the wicked ways in which she wished to  _ save _ him. 

 

She would let herself be as the lamb lead to the lion or the altar. Only to herself would she ever admit to such wants. She did not  _ need _ him, she did not require him to live or to breathe. But she  _ wanted _ him...

 

_ He’ll come back, he cannot keep himself away,  _ she thinks as the sky blooms into orange and pink, kissed by the heavens above and aglow with purity and beauty that only God himself could paint. 

 

The weight of her cross around her neck feels heavier with each passing breath, with each unclean thought. She had known the touch of a man before, how it stirred those coarse and common base desires within herself. She had believed herself a wanton, immodest woman. 

 

But her sins had been forgiven and she had felt a rebirth of sorts through her own atonement. She had given herself fully back to God and through His forgiveness she had devoted her last three years to serving Him and the needy and destitute. God had become her father and husband. 

 

But since hence did another man, made of the flesh and filled with warm blood, had barricaded themselves at her door...

 

Cullen had seen to it to ensure she was always safe and well taken care of. After Joseph, after her father, he had seemed hell bent on seeing to it she never went without. Whether it was simple repairs to the farmhouse or the chapel itself he always seemed to fixate on any complication that arose when it came to her. 

 

Even driving off unwanted beggars who would only take advantage of her kindness and who were not in need of charity or saving. 

 

Ruth had never had a man, relation or otherwise, take such serious interest in her own well being. Not even her own father had ever aided her as Cullen had. And Joseph had all but abandoned her. 

 

And of course with the arrival of the orphan, Ezra, Cullen had seemed to make her into a sort of Virgin Mary. A mother to a boy who seemed to appear in town out of thin air, hungry and terribly thin but unable to speak of what had befallen him. 

 

The boy had seemingly tied them ever closer together, a knot of a half familial sense. Ezra was as wild as the world that had sprouted him forth into her arms and as untamed and mischievous as Ezra could be she could not find it herself to give him up. 

 

Not when he had been found by a man of equal attributes, only harnessed and semi-tame with years of patient contemplation and hardened experience. 

 

When her thoughts of Cullen Bohannon were not of the lewd or lustful nature she shamefully indulged in the daydream that Ezra had been  _ their _ child, that they were a family and she waited for him to return after a long day of work to be with her again. She his wife, he her rugged and domesticated feral husband. 

 

The sun continued it’s return to the other side of the world and soon it’s brother Night would take its place and their sister the Moon would shine her brilliance onto them once more. 

 

A part of her also wished he would not return. Then perhaps she could begin to live a life without the texture of his skin imprinted so clearly onto her own, then she could live without knowing his smile at her whim or his eyes gazing openly into her own. 

 

Did that feral, wild side of him that she knew still existed longed for the same things she secretly did? She shivers at the thought, perhaps he wants in the same ways she does. To take her, to make her his...   
  
As sure as the sun finally collapsed and vanished into the horizon did those familiar headlights appear like death’s eyes in the night. The horse that carried death would be a pale horse and Cullen rode no such steed. No. He wasn’t death. He was war.

 

Her daydream of a warm and loving life where he never knew unkindness or heartache or the cruelty of his fellow man faded into a distant delusion she would feel shame for later... later in the night, when the house was quiet and he was gone again.   
  
Cullen cuts the engine and his eyes sweep over Ruth; her ankles exposed, feet bare, hair bound in a loose braid. Ever the picture of pure femininity and holy ladylike divinity. Her skirt is periwinkle blue, her blouse white, her hands covet her words of God strapped and cut together in the hide of a long dead animal.    
  
He never means this to be his final destination. He could easily find a bar, broad and brawl to silence the Devil at his back. But the Devil seemed so much louder in such places.    
  
Except here in this little carved out piece of heaven, a small farm and a chapel to boot. It was a  _ nothing _ , a little place in the most obscure and least thought of place on earth. But it was hers, it was...  _ could _ be theirs.   
  
He ends up here without thinking about it, without worrying, knowing that at the end of the dead end road is where the Devil will finally be at peace, will be quiet, will be forgotten.   
  
Cullen gets out of the truck, making a slow move to the porch. She always looks so relieved to see him, she shouldn’t, but damn it if it doesn’t bring him a little bit of pride.    
  
“Long day?” She asks, as she always does, for it is their way now.    
“The longest.” He answers.   
  
_ The longest part of the journey is coming back to you _ , is what he wants to say.    
  
“Come,” Ruth extends her hand. “It’s late.”   
  
Late for what? His soul, her redemption, their consummation...?    
  
“I think it best to rest out here.” He says, glancing down at his feet.    
  
“Nonsense,” Ruth exclaims. “What kind of Christian would I be if I turned you away?”   
  
Cullen snorts.    
  
“Is that what I am?” He asks. “Just charity?”   
  
Ruth sighs and descends a couple steps, reaching down taking his hand in hers. She’s taller than he on the stairs.   
  
“Please?” Damn it.    
  
It doesn’t go unnoticed to him that she had already prepared him dinner. They never made this a plan, a set date. It just always happened that way. Because damn him he couldn’t keep himself away. Because Ruth Cole silenced his Devil, forced away the bad and imbued him with silence.    
  
Like she always knew he would come back and wanted everything ready.    
  
“Where’s Ezra?” He asks after a time.   
“Asleep if you can believe it.” She answers over her cup of tea.    
  
“I can’t.” He replies and she smiles warmly, her faint blush and dark eyes lure him further in.  

 

The dance began as soon as he got out of the truck... hell, maybe even before that too.    
  
But he lets her lead. If he didn’t-   
  
“You look tired,” she says kindly. “You could rest a while here.”   
  
Cullen sighs and shakes his head,   
  
“I doubt that would be a good idea.” He rubs his chin and  _ feels  _ her disappointment. But he wants to think of her, of how him staying here even a little longer than appropriate could paint her in a negative light. He would not have that... but damn it, he wished he could  _ have _ her.   
  
Her hand moves across the wooden table, a table he and Elam built for  _ her _ , her fingers find his. Another step, another move. Another silent way of asking him to-   
  
“Ruth,” he says. “People like to talk.”   
“Why when all I am offering you is a warm bed to rest upon.”   
  
“Which bed is that?”   
  
His question cuts through her and she freezes like a deer in the headlights the moment before impact, before blood runs and life ends, there’s such stillness in her eyes.   
  
Had he really meant to be so blunt, so crude?   
  
Ruth moves her hand away, rising and clearing the table.    
  
“I’m sorry.” He adds weakly.    
“No-no- I,” She pauses over the sink.    
“Ruth,” he says her name as he stands. 

 

The dance was easier when things went unsaid. Now he said it, openly. Now there was no turning back.    
  
She holds out a hand, as if to keep him away. The Devil crawls up his back, resting a hand on his shoulder...  _ she wants you _ .    
  
“You’re right. I’m being foolish and insensitive.”   
  
Cullen touches her shoulder and he feels her trembling under his hand,   
  
“You could never be either.”   
  
He hopes she doesn’t look at him, that she remains meek and shy. 

 

_ Don’t look at me. _   
  
But his fears come true when she lifts her face, swallowing as their eyes meet.    
  
The dance is coming to an end. He needs to put a stop to what could follow. There’s a thousand reasons why this won’t end well. The blood that she could never wash away from his hands, the people he’s killed, the lives he’s ended and there was surely more to come.    
  
“Cullen,” She whispers his name and drags her fingertips over his jaw, the scrape of his beard against her skin causes another wave of shivers to run like a river between them both.   
  
Her thighs clench, she realizes how much closer he is, that his hands are subtly moving against her hips.    
  
Something inside him cries out, like a wounded animal, and buries his face into the crook of her neck. Her hand slides into his soft hair, he moans lightly at her tender touch. 

 

The dance has ended.   
  
Ruth shakes visibly but she can’t seem to stop herself. She fears he’ll suddenly turn on her like a rabid dog. That he’ll bite the hand that feeds him and damn her to hell if she doesn’t want him to.    
  
A door opening and closing breaks them apart, she gasps as soft footsteps descend a wooden staircase and Cullen goes to the window, hands resting on the frame, hunched over.    
  
“Ezra,” he hears Ruth say, flushed and voice strained. “What are you doing up?”   
  
More footsteps and Cullen feels more than hears them leave the room as she ushers the boy back up the stairs. Back to bed, like a mother should.   
  
Exhaling slowly he feels the temptation to run shake him to his core. He knows better than anyone what he would’ve done had the boy not awakened.    
  
Damn it, damn it all. 

 

His fists curl over the frame, into the paint, through the wood.    
  
_ Leave, leave with your tail between your legs _ , he tells himself as he leaves the small kitchenette.    
  
_ Leave before you destroy her _ , he thinks as he ascends the staircase, intently and with purpose. 

 

He already made his decision when he turned down the dead end road, when he pulled into the drive, when he got out of the truck. He made this decision a long fucking time ago.    
  
Ruth is closing Ezra’s door, the room dark, turning her face she is shocked to see him for he’s never been to the second floor before.    
  
She’s lost for words as Cullen’s takes her by the hand, guiding her, moving her,  _ taking _ her.    
  
_ Leave before you hurt her _ .    
  
He finds her bedroom, pulling her inside, closing the door with a silence that doesn’t match his actions.   
  
Cullen’s sturdy hands press her against the door and she gasps as his mouth finds hers in the darkness. She’s frozen again, petrified in place as he cups her cheeks and he feels her blushing, hot flesh under his hands.   
  
Her lips part and her fingers find his hair again, running through it and moaning hard.    
  
When he hears her moan he urgently moves to the hem of her skirt, lifting it and pulling it up past her hips, pressing her harder into the wooden doorframe. She grips his shoulder, fingernails biting through his shirt, squirming oh so sweetly against him and he’s so hard he decides then and there he’ll take her against the fucking door.    
  
His fingers find her delicate panties, his tongue tastes her mouth eagerly, wantonly,  _ deeply _ .    
  
He rips her underwear in two and she cries out as the material pulls taught against her skin leaving a line of redness.    
  
He backs off only an inch, both their hands reaching for his thick leather belt; the clinking and clanking of it like a herald of calamity. It’ll destroy or redeem them both.   
  
“You want this?” He whispers darkly against her panting mouth and she breathlessly responds by pulling him back to her mouth, her tongue needing to feel his, to taste him completely. For Cullen’s part he plants himself between her legs, raising them around his waist. 

 

It’s all been building to this anyway; against a door or on a bed neither seems to care. They simply need whatever the other is willing to give. The last battle in a heated war. 

 

Ruth shivers and whimpers as she feels him against her, so hard and strong and firm. He lifts her then lowers her and her head falls into his neck as she holds back her cry of pleasure and pain as the two seem so intimately tied together in a matrimony of bewildering commotion. 

 

Two sides of paradise, screaming over the other, trapped in an unholy eden. 

 

Enraptured by her response, Cullen wastes little time in mounting his offense against her as she willingly allows him every inch of herself. Something so dark and hidden forces him harder into her, driving him like a man starved of touch his whole life. 

 

Her hair comes undone from it’s loose braid as every fiber of her comes loose as well. But it is another queer mixture of feeling as if she’s pulled as taught as a bow string and as lax as water. 

 

Words are meaningless, communication is achieved through taste and touch. 

 

Ruth feels every inch of him, every slide of him of inside her and every breath against her face. 

 

Something shifts,  _ they _ shift as he carries her- still deep inside her- to her little bed in the corner of her tiny room. There he sits and grinds her down onto him and she moans a little louder than intended. One of his depraved hands finds her hip, guiding her once more and the other buries itself in her long, strawberry blonde hair. 

 

“Cull _ en _ .” She moans softly, for he is much deeper now, so much more a part of her. 

 

Not long now does he feel himself ready to burst inside her, filling her even more with his own self. His mouth attaches itself to her neck, biting and kissing her long pale neck bruisingly and lovingly all at once. She should not be surprised this is how he makes love, how he shows his devotion to her. Sweetly, brutally. 

 

Ruth feels her own end coming, she meets his hard and brutal thrusts, wanting him fully and completely, wanting him to show her his true self. She watches his eyes as he uses her without mercy, relentlessly pumping his hips into her. Watching his face seems to send her into a frenzy because she feels herself falling over that perfect, sharp edge.

 

Collapsing against him, she feels him shudder and moan hard into her breasts, his hand at the back of her neck gripping so hard it almost hurts. She  _ feels _ his release, coating the inside of her womanhood, the messy and primitive sounds they omit do nothing but soothe her heart and her soul. 

 

She cups his face and kisses him, weakly and without shame. 

 

Good Lord, all this time in her mind’s eye had she imagined taking him, making him hers in truth, and all she had ever felt was guilt. Now that she had been with him she felt nothing of the sort. It had felt right. 

 

Cullen isn’t sure how it happened but he’s suddenly lying under the quilts and blankets, holding Ruth against him waiting for the sound of the Devil’s voice... it doesn’t come. Instead, he hears an angel,

 

“What are you thinking about?” She wonders.

“Just... thinkin’.”

 

Ruth sighs, smiling and kissing his shoulder sweetly. In truth, she’s waiting for him to run. She knows it’s what he knows to do if someone shows him any sort of affection or love. He’s afraid to love, she knows. 

 

“Are you going to leave?” She asks him. She’s already shown him every part of herself, she won’t let them start lying now. 

 

“I don’t know, Ruth.” He answers honestly. She nods against him, holds his hand loosely. She’s already held him as close as he could ever be to herself. She takes his chin in her fingers, forcing him to look at her.

 

“If you do, don’t slip away in the night,” she tells him. “Wake me up and tell me the truth. Don’t run away quietly this time.”

 

Looking into those impossibly dark and vivid eyes he knows he wouldn’t do that, not to  _ her _ . 

 

“Alright.” He agrees, knowing she was far too good for that. Ruth closes her eyes, lets sleep begin to take her, knowing he’ll stay awake and kill himself over what’s happened. Knowing that whatever peace he found was short lived with her, that her daydream would never be. That a future where he stayed by her in the way she hoped for could never be.

 

When Ruth feels the hours have changed and her mind and body begins to stir she expects to find him gone, having broken his vow. 

 

To her surprise he is not yet awake, but breathing slowly and evenly beside her. She clenches her thighs at the memory of the night before. 

 

Christ, she still felt no guilt. The bruises on her body, the passion they had shared, the brutality of his kiss lingered on her like a brand. She could smell him, feel him. Turning over in her bed she presses herself into him, kissing his chest over his heart.

 

Maybe when he wakes he’ll tell her this was wrong, that they weren’t meant to be together. But for right now he is hers. He is  _ hers _ . At least he stayed. 

 

Ruth feels Cullen stirring a little, his arm moving in his sleep around her half naked waist, her shirt from last night lying haphazardly over her. She runs her fingers over his arm, over his wrist, down his hand, lightly like a feather. 

 

“I could be yours,” she whispers to him in his sleep. “You could wake up like this every morning and know this is what heaven is like. You could be mine and never go a day without love. Ezra could be ours. You would have a son again, you could feel like a father again.” 

 

Cullen sighs in his sleep, she hopes her words are finding him in his dreams. 

 

“I could die happy knowing you were loved.” 

 

Ruth leans up a little, resting on an elbow, tracing the lines by his eyes. 

 

She sees his eyes moving beneath his eyelids, he squints slightly before he begins to blink. 

 

Her heart begins pounding in her chest, she hadn’t meant to wake him. 

 

She prepares herself for his clipped bluntness or a guttural remark. Maybe he was better than leaving her in the middle of the night but was he beyond pretending this never happened? 

 

Cullen’s eyes roll over her face, tired and wry, adjusting to the dim glow of the room. Adjusting to seeing Ruth leaning over him, gazing at him so. His mind thinks rapidly, but surprisingly calmly.

 

People would talk- hell, they already were. Psalm seemed to make it his mission to tease Cullen about his attentions over the last year towards Ruth, and if he had noticed then others had too. It was a small town with a large workforce and very little breathing room and Ruth, being it’s progressive female preacher, was at the epicenter of it all.

 

Elam took the silent, pretending not to notice yet he saw everything approach, which Cullen appreciated. 

 

Cullen gave more concern to gossip than Ruth did. It was a insignificant drop in the ocean to her. Scandal and hearsay had followed her most of her life thanks to the reputation of her father. A man who had committed terrible atrocities in Vietnam, returning home born again and madder than ever. 

 

And worse yet, Cullen and the reverend were considered lucky in the end. They had both been able to go home for different reasons. The reverend was released from his duty due to the state of his mind, while Cullen’s was so he could go home to bury his wife and son... a release from duty out of sympathy and respect.

 

Her father had used the word of God as his own personal sword of fire against those he opposed or saw as unworthy. He had formed a strange obsession with saving a lost and wandering soldier, attempting to bring Cullen into his fold. But his attempts had been in vain.

 

It wasn’t until after the born again reverend's death did Cullen take notice of the wispy girl, slowly blossoming into womanhood under his very nose in just a few short years. 

 

A self assured, good hearted and even at times vengeful woman. She gave him hell and kindness all at once. Silenced his demons with a single look and raised them when he needed their strength and hers. 

 

Who was Ruth Cole to hold such power over him and why did he willingly give in?    
  
“Are you going to leave?” She asks him again after a time. 

“Don’t know.” Same answer, but it’s not really an answer at all. She knows her body is reacting to his again, the warmth of him and the fact she can see his scars clearly now in the rising light of the sun. 

 

She knows his arm is tighter around her now. If he doesn’t know... she couldn’t lie with him again. 

 

But his fingers trace the dip in her lower back, further and further down. 

 

“Cullen,” she says his name again, not as much the same as she did last night but it was something caught between the two. He’s moving towards her again, his mouth over her shoulder, to the neck that he bit last night. 

 

She can’t see it but he can, the welt is red and risen. He wonders if she’ll be horrified when she sees it. 

 

Cullen feels her hands against his chest as he moves over her, between her long, spindly legs. She smells like him and herself, her own scent intoxicating him. 

 

“Ezra will wake soon,” she reminds him, he looks out the window, the sun is still in its infancy and he can’t keep himself from touching her. 

 

“Shh,” he insists and plants his mouth over hers and she moans into it, adoring him but knowing she should stop this. There are things to do... she must prepare Ezra’s breakfast, feed the animals, prepare her sermon for Sunday- 

 

His hand moves up her chest, bringing her wrinkled shirt with it, pulling it over her head to drop it to the floor. 

 

If Ezra should see Cullen here, in their home so early in the morning, surely the boy will make assumptions. He was young but he wasn’t a fool, he had had parents once. 

 

Whimpering into his demanding mouth she tightens her hold on him when his rough fingers squeeze and knead her breast, applying just the slightest pressure to her nipple, gasping and leaving her wanting-  _ needing _ \- more from him. 

 

He had awakened an insatiable desire in her and she in turn had given the Devil a taste of heaven. 

 

Cullen grinds his length against her quivering womanhood, dripping with her wanton greed for him. He groans as he drives himself into her fully, relishing her gasp of shock at how full he makes her feel, how he glides through her and makes her feel every inch of him. Ruth holds onto him for dear life, a muffled strangled sigh leaves them both as he simply takes from her, giving her no room for argument or rebuff. 

 

Because that is what a man does when a woman is his, when he is hers. 

 

“ _ Yes _ , oh... God,” she cries out, quietly so as to not give their passions away to the sleeping boy not two rooms away. The bed creaks, whining against them, it feels louder than it actually is because every one of their senses inside them is heightened and balancing on a razor’s edge.

 

Good God, he undoes her so easily and she in turn nakes him give up his restraint, his walls of coldness and detachment. His thrusts are slow and penetrating, it’s not the same abrupt and rough passion from the night before but it is overwhelming and powerful all the same. 

 

Ruth feels him everywhere again, not just inside her physically, but inside her heart; as if he held the secrets of who she was inside and out, emotionally and spiritually, in his hands. 

 

The hands of a killer, the hands of a father, the hands of a wounded man. 

 

Those hands that healed her, hurt her, cherished her, bent her, worshipped her. 

 

It was evident that he needed her, desired her and wanted her as a man should want a woman. But could he love her? There was evidence to suggest that such a thing was impossible. And Ruth did believe in his own way he loved her. He sought her out, took her council and now made love to her like a man starved. But could he  _ love _ her? Could he let himself be in love with her?

 

Ruth feels herself breaching the gates of her end, panting as the heat of the sun penetrates the small room with it’s yellow rays, breaking through the glass and warming the room. 

 

Cullen watches with a deeply primal fascination as her face contorts, her eyes tightly shut, her cheeks a sweet crimson shade. She’s clenching, tightening, her hands digging into his sides. Her own response sends him spiraling as he feels himself give in and spend himself inside her, again. 

 

Jesus. It was almost  _ too _ easy, how he had given into her. It was a wonder it took years for him to reach this point. In his own way he wondered what in the hell had taken him so long. Ruth took and allowed anything he seemed to give her to, willingly spreading her heart open for him. 

 

Swallowing, Ruth gently presses into his chest and he removes himself from above her. Rising her legs shake and she moves to the small connected bathroom, closing the door for she was still not without her modesty. 

 

He could run now, he had time. He could leave her like this, detach himself again. Force indifference and coldness onto her. He hears running water, the shower on. He pictures her under the welcoming water, dripping down her small frame, soaking her as she rinses the remnants of their coupling away. 

 

Cullen hears a car approaching, rising and dressing himself he groans as he recognizes the truck coming to a stop beside his own. 

 

“Damn it, Elam.” 

 

In the hall another “oh shit” moment arises because there’s a boy without a father standing in the hall staring at him. 

 

“Hey,” is all he can muster and Ezra just stares at him with tired eyes. Kids are unaware about  _ things _ but if he learned anything from being a parent it was that they were incredibly perceptive. They noticed and questioned everything, one of the upsides to being young and innocent. There was no question that was too taboo until they learned what was appropriate to ask after.

 

Luckily for Cullen in this instance, Ezra didn’t speak... not with words. But those eyes said a great deal. 

 

_ Why were you in Ruth’s room? _

 

“You hungry?” He counters but Ezra narrows his eyes, tilting his head. “Come on. We’ll talk later.” 

 

_ I’m not letting this go.  _

 

“Yeah,” Cullen says, taking the boy by the shoulder. “I know.”

 

Elam enters the house without knocking because Ruth’s farmhouse has always been a safe haven for anyone in need. Cullen was not a supporter of this because he knew it was only a matter of time before the wrong person came rolling through, but she wouldn’t budge on the matter. If some poor soul needed a place to stay then her door was always open.

 

He tries not to let it show on his face that he was one such poor soul on more than one occasion. Even when the land had been her father’s and now... well, the whole nature of their relationship had altered in more ways than one. 

 

All it took was one night, but there had been many others that had been the prelude. 

 

Elam himself does not seem surprised. 

 

“Thought I’d find you here,” his friend says, Cullen directs Ezra to the kitchen as the two men move back onto the porch. An awkward silence follows. 

 

“You been here all night?” Elam asks, as they look over the small plot of land around them. “Engine isn’t hot. Must have been here all night.” 

 

Cullen cuts him with a glare and Elam smiles, shrugging. 

 

“I notice things.” 

“What  _ things _ ?” Cullen asks and his friend moves down the porch, taking a seat on the steps. 

 

“Like how you don’t come out as much no more,” Elam begins. “‘Stead you find your way here.” He gestures to the farm, the little barn with a small Noah’s arc of assorted animals. 

 

“That so bad?” Cullen asks him carefully from behind. Elam shakes his head.

“You nicer now.” Elam adds with a chuckle and Cullen sighs and seats himself. 

“Doesn’t matter,” he says, and Elam shoots him a look. “She’s too good for me.”

“Suppose you said that about your wife too.” 

 

Cullen chuckles and nods.

 

“As a matter of fact I did.” 

“She a good woman, Bohannon.” Elam tells him like Cullen doesn’t already know. 

 

Christ, how he knows how good her heart is. 

 

“Besides,” Elam says standing. “You look like you belong here.”

“I was a shit farmer.” Says Cullen.

“You ain’t too old to try again, yet.” 

 

As Elam leaves for his own truck Cullen stands, 

 

“Wait, why did you come here?” 

 

Elam opens the door, resting his arms over it.

 

“Durant got another job for us. But I’ll tell ‘em it can wait.” 

 

Back inside Ruth is standing behind Ezra at the stove, holding his hand as he cracks an egg into a hot pan. He still has time to run, no one would be the wiser until they heard his engine roar to life. And Durant wanted to see him. There was a job to be done. There was work that needed doing, men that probably needed killing.

 

Shit, he had time. 

 

He’d keep telling himself that too; as he moves into the kitchen, standing at her side, her face flashes that brilliant smile at him. 

 

Yeah. He had time. 


End file.
